Where They'll Always Take You In
by Adara-chan67
Summary: Dean hasn't seen his half-brother Niko Leandros in three years, but he's going to see him now. He just wishes he knew why.


_Disclaimer: Don't own Winchesters or Leandros. The end._

_Characters: Dean Winchester, Niko and Cal Leandros_

_Setting: Post-"Swan Song" and _Roadkill

_Warnings: Huge spoilers for "Swan Song," minor spoilers for _Roadkill

Where They'll Always Take You In

Dean Winchester became a big brother for the first time in 1983.

He remembered well the feeling, unnamable then, that had risen up in him when his mom had gone home from the doctor and told him she was going to have a baby. Or rather, _feelings_, since he figured out years later that he'd felt a thorough mixture of jealousy at the idea of not being the baby anymore coupled with excitement at the thought of being a big brother like some of the boys in his class.

He remembered how his mother had noticed his confusion almost instantly, and sat him down and asked him to tell her what was wrong. But he'd refused to tell her in front of his dad—whom he was determined should see him as a big boy—and so Mom had asked him smilingly to leave her and her little man alone for a minute. Grumbling good-naturedly, Dad had obeyed, and Dean had cracked in a matter of moments and asked if she would like the new baby better than him.

He didn't know it then, but he would come to treasure that conversation. It may have been cliché, may have been featured in every after-school special containing a pregnant mother ever shown on television, but it was also a memory, a golden warmth to carry with him, to remind him of how much his mother had loved him, and how she had made a point to tell him so as often as she thought he needed to hear it, both during her pregnancy and after Sam was born.

He remembered helping his dad paint the nursery in the colors his mom had chosen, and Dad telling him what a good job he'd done, then secretly re-painting his part in the middle of the night (although of course, that was something he didn't find out until it became something for him and Dad to laugh about when he was a teenager).

He remembered sitting home with Mrs. Hansen, the next-door neighbor, when Mom went into labor while making lunch and Dad whisked her off to the hospital. He'd been excited, but also a little worried, because his mom had clearly been in pain, and of course that couldn't be good.

But most of all, he remembered when Sam had come home for the first time.

Mom had been practically glowing, and Dad had looked so proud of her that one would have thought he'd had nothing to do with Sam's existence at all. But Sam—Sam had been quiet, inquisitive, even then, and hadn't made a sound when Mom had deposited him into his big brother's arms. He'd simply blinked heavy-lidded eyes that had been blue then, and stretched his little fists upwards. It had to have been a coincidence that Sam had chosen that moment to wave his hands and yawn and make it look like he was reaching for Dean the first time Dean ever held him.

But coincidence or not, it was another memory.

Dean remembered it. He kept every memory inside him, held close and carefully to his heart.

After all, memories were all he had now.

XXX

The second time Dean Winchester became a big brother, he hadn't embraced it at all.

That day couldn't have been more different from the first time around. He'd had Sam next to him when he found out this time; he'd been in a bar, not his house; he had been told by his half-brother, not his mother. But one thing didn't change: Dean hadn't been quite sure how he felt then, either—although he did know that excited happiness was definitely not part of the equation.

That had been three years ago, and Dean had not spoken to Niko since. It wasn't exactly that he'd made a conscious decision to ignore his half-brother's existence. He and Sam just…hadn't done anything about it—hadn't called, hadn't gone to New York, hadn't done anything with the information that they still had at least one living family member in the world.

And now here he was, steering his car down the Manhattan streets at eleven o'clock at night, to an apartment he'd never been to and had actually had to do a little work to find, and to top it off, there was a distinct possibility that the road would end with a door slammed in his face.

But if that did happen, then he would just turn around and go back the way he'd come.

No big deal.

XXX

The apartment Dean eventually stopped the car in front of looked much nicer than the one he'd been to on his last trip to New York. It even had an actual parking lot—a small one, but still. Dean made use of one of the spaces and turned his car off, but he didn't get out. He just sat there, staring blankly out the window of the car at the building. He wasn't thinking anything in particular. He wasn't nervous about seeing Niko and Cal again. There was no real reason why he didn't get out and go straight to the door. He just couldn't get up the energy right then to move.

But after a few minutes he found his gaze beginning to wander, and before he knew it his eyes were on the empty seat beside him.

He ended up shattering any and all existent records for fastest car exit and in seconds was at the door of the building. He slipped in and up the stairs in reflexive silence, found the number he was looking for, and without a moment's hesitation rapped on the door.

And that was how, within the next five seconds, Dean was once again face-to-face with his half-brother.

The last time Dean had seen Niko, he had been struck by how Zen the man seemed. On that visit, he'd been told a demon was trying to kill him, his brother Cal had been kidnapped and tortured by demons, and he'd told Dean himself that they were related, all without any appearance of being remotely flapped. Nor did he seem to be flapped now; he simply blinked once, twice, and then said, "Come in," and stepped aside to give Dean the space to get through the door.

Dean's first impression was that Niko and Cal had moved up in the world. This place was several steps up from the last—no holes or spackle in the walls, decent furniture, and actual paint.

As Niko closed the door behind him, Dean's attention was drawn by a movement in the doorway opposite him, and Cal, Niko's younger brother, appeared.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked immediately, an edge to his voice.

Dena couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or not, or what to say, so he just stayed silent and studied Cal. It was, after all, easier than looking at Niko.

For a few moments, he couldn't figure out what he found startling in the younger Leandros. Physically, Cal appeared the same as before—almost ridiculously pale, jaw-length black hair, emo-goth black clothes…nothing unusual. But there was something off, and after a moment Dean realized that it was all in the gray eyes. They were…emptier now. Not _empty_, but there was far less snap in them than there had been before, less wit, less…everything.

Then Niko moved back into his line of sight, and Dean knew suddenly that this change was not exclusive to Cal. Both the brothers had aged far more than three years since the last time Dean had seen them.

It made him wonder what kinds of changes they saw in him.

"Sit down if you like," Niko said. "Would you like a drink?"

"Yeah, we have beer and more beer," Cal said.

"Cal, at least try and be polite," Niko admonished, motioning Dean toward the couch. "He is right, though," he added to Dean. "We really only have beer, water, and green tea."

Dean just shrugged.

"All right, beer it is. Cal, tea for me, please."

Cal rolled his eyes and headed for what Dean assumed was the kitchen. He was gone for maybe three or four minutes, which Niko spent gazing steadily at Dean and Dean spent looking awkwardly anywhere else. He felt absurdly glad when Cal reappeared, and probably devoted a little too much attention to opening his beer and taking a swig. When he looked up again, Niko and Cal were both watching him expectantly.

After another few awkward moments, Dean finally spoke. "I have no idea why I'm here."

He only realized then that he hadn't spoken a word to anyone in almost three days, and consequently his voice sounded like it came over shattered glass.

"I mean," he continued, vaguely noting the look Cal and Niko exchanged, "it wasn't planned or anything. I just…I got in the car and drove through the night, and the next thing I knew I was at your old apartment. But you weren't there, so I tracked you down, and…I don't know why I did."

After a beat of silence, Niko said with an odd gentleness, "Dean, where's Sam?" 

Dean hadn't thought about how he'd reply when Niko inevitably asked that question. He hadn't really thought about anything at all in the last few days, though if he had, he would have assumed that he wouldn't be able to say it.

But the words slipped from him before he even registered it. "Sam's dead."

When his father had died, and when Sam had died the first time, Dean hadn't been able to say it. He had very much been one of those deep mourners, those guys who refused to say their loved ones had died because saying it would make it true, or else would cripple them so badly that they'd collapse in a sobbing heap where they stood.

But when he said those two words to Niko, he barely felt anything at all—just a quick, sharp stab like the time a spirit had put a rebar through his torso, and then an abrupt return to the numbness that had been consuming him.

He barely noticed the way Cal and Niko were looking at him as he went on to tell them, in greatly reduced terms, what had happened. But as he talked, he began to realize that their faces became more and more expressive the more he said, as if they both realized something he didn't. By the time he finished, Cal was shaking his head and Niko was nearly practically almost twitching.

"Dean, I'm sorry," Niko said quietly, once he fell silent. "It's terrible that this happened, but we can't help you."

"Help me?" Dean asked, utterly nonplussed. "Why would I think you could help me?"

Niko just stared, waiting for him to make the connection, and then suddenly Dean remembered. His gaze flicked automatically to Cal, who just shrugged.

"Cal can't gate anywhere he hasn't been before," Niko said with his usual unruffled calm.

"Yeah, plus I don't gate anymore. At all," Cal added flatly, over Niko's warning look. "I got…dangerous…for awhile."

Niko was now glaring openly, but Dean didn't notice. Thoughts were racing through his head, almost too fast to put into words, triggered by the sudden realization of why his car had steered itself here in the first place.

Sam had special abilities just like Cal. Sam had gotten dangerous, too, for awhile. Sam had nearly gone off the deep end. Sam had more than made up for all that.

Sam had left Dean alone, and he was never going to make up for it.

And _now_ the feelings that hadn't touched him before crashed down over him in a wave. He found himself closing his eyes tightly and choking on the lump in his throat. Sam was _gone._ Sam had let Lucifer possess him. Sam had jumped into a huge swirling vortex and allowed it to close over him. Sam was in Hell.

_Sam…Sam…Sam…_ After three days of refusing to allow the name to cross his mind, suddenly it was stuck on a loop in his brain. _Sam…Sam…Sam…_

Sam was gone.

Sam was _dead._

And here Dean was in Manhattan, talking to a kid he barely knew, as if he was going to ask him to open a door to Lucifer's cage down below, as if he was honestly going to just conveniently forget the last promise he'd made to Sam when there were so many broken ones between them already.

And then there was Niko. Was Dean honestly sitting here talking to the last of his remaining blood kin for the first time in three years, after Sam had died, as if that could possibly comfort him at all? As if Sam could be _replaced?_ As if he'd _want_ to?

Suddenly he was standing up and moving toward the door, too foggy to even notice that Niko was standing up, too—until the older Leandros grabbed his arm in a vice-like grip, stopping him in his tracks.

"That's not true," Niko said in a low voice. "My brother is hard on himself, but he is _not_ dangerous."

It took a moment for Dean to figure out what he was talking about, and when he did he was so taken aback that he blurted out, "I don't care about Cal."

"Ouch," Cal said lightly from his chair, while Niko looked suspicious.

"I don't," Dean insisted. "'Dangerous' doesn't mean shit to me nowadays. I don't give a damn if he went psycho and tried to slaughter everyone in downtown Manhattan." And he really didn't. He didn't care, and it didn't matter to him that he didn't care.

It wasn't like he was a hunter anymore, after all.

"I know why I came here now, but I shouldn't have," Dean went on. "I get it now. Everything. I'm gonna leave. You won't see me again. No matter how 'dangerous' Cal gets."

Cal snorted, and Niko shot him a look that Dean easily read as a promise for an argument once they were alone.

Which would be in a minute or so, because Dean knew now what he was going to do.

"Bye, Niko, Cal," he said hollowly, heading once again for the door.

Niko didn't stop him this time, and in a couple of minutes he was back at his car, a plan fully formed as if it had been in his mind all the time.

He would do what Sam had suggested on their last ride together. He would go to Lisa. He would move in with her if she'd let him. He would love her. He would live an apple-pie life, and he would not go poking at Lucifer's cage.

Sam was his brother, and Dean would honor his last request.

He did not glance once to his right as he started the car and drove out of the lot.

_Author's Note: I really have nothing to say about this, except I'm sorry if it bummed anyone out. I think maybe reading Jim Beaver's memoir is influencing my writing or something—although it's still one of the most honest, most real, and most moving books I've ever read. Seriously, read it. And then go hug your parents, your kids, your siblings, your friends, whoever. Just go hug someone._

_And when you're done with that, maybe toss a review my way!_


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